Chapter Text
— — — — — 9 — — — — —
“Em Hotep.” The words leaked out of the girl’s mouth like dying ones: desperately, as if the tabby girl staring down at her was her last hope; the only chance to escape the darkness that still gathered at the edges of her vision. “Ir Hotep. Ir Hotep.”
This place didn’t smell right. Smell? Since when was that so sharp? The air was sterile and sharp, with a hint of rust underneath. Instead of the familiar hum of the Whispering Woods, she heard a rhythmless clanking, dulled by miles of metal walls. At least it wasn’t all smoke and blood anymore.
Everything hurt. Everything felt wrong. The only thing that didn’t hurt was keeping her eyes fixed on this girl’s. Something about her mismatched eyes let her know that she was safe. She wasn’t alone . . . even if . . . even if everyone was . . . gone. They were all gone.
Her savior’s tail swished. “Hey Rogelio,” she called behind her. “Mine talks weird. You wanna switch buddies?”
“I don’t talk weird,” the girl shot back weakly, trying and failing to prop herself up on the hard infirmary bed, the pain in her shoulder flaring up fiercely. “You’re a Magicat. I’m just saying . . .” Greetings? Peace be with you? Please don’t let me die? “. . . Hi.” She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she knew it was right to say, out of it as she was.
“The heck’s a Magicat?” The other girl questioned, brow furrowed.
Before she could answer, another figure, taller and darker stalked into her sight. Vision blurred, Adora couldn’t make out any facial features. It was like she was wearing a mask. “Well now,” she purred. “It seems you got a polite one, Catra.”
The shadow woman looked down at her. “We don’t bother with such . . . oh how does Hordak put it? . . . primitive, cultural distinctions in the Horde, recruit. You’d do best to forget them.”
The girl’s eyes, still dulled with pain, grew wide. She glanced around the sterile room. “This is the Evil Horde?”
“Just ‘The Horde’ will do, recruit,” the scary lady snapped. She flinched. “We did save your life after all. Was that an evil thing to do?” The girl shook her head. “Exactly. Your new squadmate will finish your registration. She will be responsible for clearing up any other . . . misconceptions you may be harboring about your new home. The rest should be hammered out of you in Accelerated Acclimation. Otherwise,” she tilted her head like a predator sizing up a wounded animal. “Otherwise, you will be sent to me. And you wouldn’t want to waste my time. Would you?”
Ignoring the pain, she shook her head vigorously. “No ma’am. I won’t.”
The scary lady hummed in approval. “That’s the spirit. You could learn a lot from her attitude, Catra.” She turned to the Magicat, who was clearly resisting the urge to curl in on herself. “Remember, you shall be held responsible for her infractions. So, for both your sakes, try not to rub off on her.” And with that threat, she skulked away.
The Magicat stood stock still, clutching a clipboard piled up with paperwork in one paw. The girl grabbed the other hand like it was a lifeline. She flinched, but didn’t flick the hand away. Instead, she squeezed back. After a few moments like this, Catra cleared her throat, set the clipboard on the other girl’s knees, and pulled out a pencil.
“My name’s Catra,” she whispered, refusing to let an offhand the shadow lady be the thing that introduced her. “Just stick with me, and you’ll be fine. Now, what’s your family name?”
“I don’t have one. My mom sai—“ she swallowed hard, pushing back the tears. A last name is just expectations you can’t live up to, she had said sadly one night. Trust me, honey, you’re better off without it. “I just never had one.”
“Good,” Catra replied. “I can just skip over the whole ‘the Horde is your family now’ section. Just saved you three days at Acc-Acc. You’re welcome.” She crossed out a bunch of lines. “So, what’s your name?”
The other girl sighed. “It’s Adora.”
— — — — — 13 — — — — —
As Adora booked it through the vents, half shifted with a bundle of contraband in her jaws, she wondered what she had done to deserve this. By all rights, she should be dead. When the Rebel wolves razed her town, they didn’t seem interested in leaving survivors. Instead, the Horde had taken her in, given her a second chance at surviving. And when her curse was revealed, the Horde didn’t cast her out. They didn’t leave her to the mercy of the monsters who destroyed her home. They let her prove herself. They gave her extra training. They even let her stay with the same squad.
For as much as the Horde was supposed to be above primitive superstitions, Squad 13 seemed to confirm a lot of them. Bad luck just seemed to follow them around. Rogelio hatched with underdeveloped vocal cords. Catra was saddled with Shadow Weaver’s special interest. Adora had to grow up with that and the whole curse thing. Kyle was Kyle. And Lonnie had to be squad leader of all those weirdos.
Needless to say, the year Squad 13 all turned thirteen, the Force Captains on training duty for their age cohort knew something bad was bound to happen. The bad luck came in the form of a once in a century winter storm knocking out the Fright Zone’s power grid. Pipes burst, and hallways turned into ice rinks. Some of the more well-connected Force Captains suddenly had escort their cadets down to the Crimson Waste or Salineas— just for training purposes, obviously.
Squad 13, however, was stuck in the barracks, crowded together in a single bunk they rigged with blankets to turn into a makeshift tent. With the temperatures well below freezing, they were fighting to keep Rogelio conscious. Besides that, they were hungry.
The Horde higher ups carefully calculated how many ration bars a cadet needed to survive, then gave them two-thirds of that and left the cadets to either learn to endure an empty stomach or make up the difference by stealing from the weaklings or getting good at raiding the kitchens. And tonight, as the squad member least bothered by the cold, it was Adora’s job to get the squad some supplemental rations on the way back from her late-night wolf training.
That had been the first lesson Catra taught her. In the Horde, there were so many rules that you broke most of them just by breathing. It was by design. The small rules were just an excuse for adults to mete out punishment; and the big ones were meant to be worked around.
The best way to get by was to keep your head down and not get caught. After she mauled the previous second in command on the night of her first transformation (conveniently paving the way for Shadow Weaver to take the job), Adora lost the chance to ever really keep her head down, but she could still manage the more important part.
It wasn’t a fair system, but Adora understood its purpose. She knew better than anyone what they were up against. The Rebellion was ruthless, cruel, and relentless. If they were going to strike back someday and save Etheria from the Princesses and the Packs, they couldn’t afford to be weak.
You had to be strong, sneaky, and smart enough to keep yourself out of trouble and your squad safe. Adora could be all of those things — she had to be. With everything the Horde had done for her, being the perfect soldier, the perfect student, and the perfect werewolf (if such a thing existed), was the least she could do to repay them.
That went double for her squad, which was why she was in such a rush, pushing through post-training exhaustion. Between the cold, the recent spike in training intensity, and Shadow Weaver being much shorter with her than usual, Catra was decidedly not in a “teamwork-y” mood. Her worries were confirmed when she finally made it back to their room.
“She gets five more minutes,” Catra’s voice came through the blankets. “After that, I’m done waiting.”
“For the last time,” Lonnie snapped. “We’re not eating Kyle!”
At that moment, Adora poked her head into the makeshift shelter, careful not to let the cold air in. She laid the contraband in the middle, between the three huddled together on one side and Catra sulking alone on the other. She pointed a glare in her friend’s direction. “I wasn’t really gonna eat him,” she groaned, rolling her eyes shifting over to make space. Adora leapt up to join them. “Maybe just his toes, but it’s not like he can feel those right now. He wouldn’t miss them!” Kyle whimpered.
“Ok,” Lonnie said, rummaging through the bundle. “I’ll take this dried meat thing. Stuff like this usually tastes fine. Kyle, you can have the green stuff. Um, Ro, this look good to you?” She held up some trout jerky to the drowsy reptilian, who nodded weakly at the scent. “Great.”
“Hey.” Catra growled. “I wanted that.”
Lonnie shrugged. “If you want first dibs on Kyle, you get last dibs on real food.” She gestured to the dried fruit left over. “There’s still plenty of those weird, tree rations the Rebels like. Besides, you get the Big Floof as a blanket. So quit complaining.” Adora wagged her tail in response. Catra grabbed some of the red ones and huddled up next to the huge, fluffy dork.
Adora had mastered half shifting years ago. On nights without a full moon, she could turn into her wild wolf form without any hit to her intellect. So, Adora could have turned back if she wanted to, but Catra never got this close when she was human. Besides, the Magicat did need a good space heater in this weather. There were icicles clinging to her fur. So, as she snuggled up for the night, Adora just decided to stay as she was. And as she often did, the wolf wondered what she had done to deserve this.
— — — — — 14 — — — — —
As the red lightning coursed through her, the screams died in Adora’s throat. She could barely hear Shadow Weaver through the pain. The words “ungrateful mutt” seemed to come up most often. The restraints burned against her skin, like molten metal poured onto to her flesh; the shock collar most of all.
After month after month after month of going on raids every full moon, she had snapped. Instead of ripping apart another civilian town, she turned on her handlers. If it hadn’t been for the shock collar, they might not have subdued her. In the chaos, the Rebels had turned the Horde back. When the ragged patrol finally made it back to the Fright Zone, the disobedient wolf had been hauled into the Black Garnet chamber in chains for her punishment.
She’d seen Shadow Weaver like this before, but usually her wrath was directed at Catra. Usually the magic stopped before this point. Usually she kept her voice level and menacing. Now, she was screaming; so livid she was unable to keep her composure. It was a nightmare she wouldn’t forget.
Finally, Adora managed to choke the words out. “Please! I’ll go to the front. I’ll fight anyone! I’ll do whatever you want, but please no more raids! No more villages! I can’t hurt them anymore! I can’t do it! I can’t!”
She felt the magic fade, dropping her to the floor. She was still restrained by bolts of red light, but the pain was at least tolerable. A hand rested on her marked shoulder, she flinched, but no new wave of magic hit her. Instead, Shadow Weaver sighed and spoke calmly. “What do you think will happen when I inform Lord Hordak of your . . . decision?”
Adora swallowed hard. “He’ll send me to Beast Island,” she whispered with resignation. At least she wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone there.
Much to her surprise, Shadow Weaver laughed. “And Catra tells me you’re smarter than everyone believes. Beast Island is where Lord Hordak sends people who fail him.” She stalked around her. “So, let me rephrase. What happens to a rabid dog that gets out of control and bites the hand that feeds it?”
The wolf could barely hide her shaking. “I—it” She stammered. “It—“
Shadow Weaver gripped her cheek. “It gets put down,” she said coldly. She brushed a hair behind her ear. “I never imagined you could be so selfish, Adora. Without you, what will happen to Catra? I thought you cared about her.”
The wolf couldn’t keep her voice from cracking. “What do you mean? What would happen to her?” Catra was doing fine before she arrived.
“Lord Hordak has always been fascinated by her aberrant connection with Etherian magic,” she explained. “It’s something to do with his secret project. I have done my best to show him that his more . . . direct means of extracting it won’t be necessary. With Catra’s lack of motivation, however, my approach was getting difficult to justify. I suggested that you be deployed early to give her some breathing room. But, if one of my wards proves to be a failure,” she flinched at the emphasis the witch put on that word.
“Well then I fear Hordak will question my judgement and decide to take drastic steps. Needless to say, she wouldn’t survive the process.” The threat hung in the air for several minutes, the silence only broken by the wolf’s sobs.
“I take it then that you are willing to reconsider?” Adora nodded desperately, unable to form the words. “Good. Adora, you have so much potential, even with your more animal instincts. It would be a shame to see it go to waste. Still, I believe you need some time to contemplate your mistakes. A week in solitary confinement should be enough. On quarter rations. I’ll inform Lord Hordak that you are being isolated for an infection you contracted before the mission. One that clouded your brain. Rabies perhaps. Your squad will be told the same. This . . . mistake of yours will remain between us. Understood?” She nodded again. “That’s the spirit.”
With that, a pair of soldiers marched into the chamber and dragged her to a dark, cramped cell.
After a few days alone, when the emptiness in her stomach was at its worst, she started talking to herself. “Dumb mutt. What were you thinking?” Those towns reminded you of home. Those people were innocent too. You didn’t want to hurt them, just the Packs. The Horde shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t help them.
“And what about Catra? And the squad? What about them?” You care about them, and she would have come with you. Adora could imagine it. She’d promised to do the same for Catra if Shadow Weaver ever followed through on her threats. Maybe the squad could even smuggle them out before the sentence was carried out. They could all flee together. Still, she shook her head.
“She shouldn’t have to choose between Beast Island with me and the Fright Zone with Shadow Weaver.” Not Beast Island then. Go back to the woods. Fight the Packs on your own. Be free.
“No.” They’d get caught. Between the Packs and Princesses, she couldn’t protect them all on her own. Only the Horde was strong enough to do that. With just Adora, she knew they would end up rotting in a Brightmoon cell, or much worse if the Packs got them first. She’d seen what they could do. She’d never get justice. Besides, even if they could eke out a living in the woods, Catra deserved better. Catra shouldn’t be running from the Horde, Catra should be running it.
“We should be running this place.”
The thought hit her like a runaway skiff. For all their idle talk of ruling the world together, the two had mostly stuck to what they’d do if they were in charge of things. She’d never really thought about how they’d get there. But now, it was obvious.
The next few days of silence were perfect for planning. It all seemed simple. Adora would do whatever the Horde asked, prove that she was a valuable asset, and beyond that, worthy of Hordak’s trust. If she could do that, then she could talk up Catra. Show Hordak her real potential. With her help, Catra could easily outshine Shadow Weaver. The apprentice surpassing the master and all that.
Once they were in charge, she’d stop the raids on civilian towns. Hit the Rebels directly. Face their armies in the field. She’d win this war, and take her revenge. Etheria would be at peace, and Catra would be safe. Between the two of them, they could change the Horde for the better. Everybody wins!
All she had to do was go on a few raids. It was wrong, she knew that, but really, that wasn’t her. It was the wolf doing all that. She was just following orders. The wolf was just a weapon. Adora wasn’t really responsible for what the wolf did on raids any more than a canon could be blamed for blasting whatever soldiers pointed it at. “Adora” could stay in the Fright Zone. She was the good one, the one that kept Catra safe, the one her squad looked up to. It wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it. She could be strong enough for both of them.
The next full moon, she didn’t hesitate. She showed no mercy. And the Rebels began hearing stories of a monster that made its home in the shadows of the Fright Zone. A bloodthirsty animal that ripped apart everything in its path. Even some Force Captains began to shudder when she passed them in the halls.
Pretty soon, everyone on Etheria feared the Beast of the Horde. Well, almost everyone.
— — — — — 17 — — — — —
Usually, Adora made a beeline for the showers after she got back from a raid. It was better to face the squad without the smell of blood on her. Catra always noticed and asked about it. This time, though, she let herself find Catra first. Their raiding party had run into a squad of Brightmoon Hunters. It seemed like the Rebels had wised up. They knew Adora was coming for them, and they started setting traps for the Beast.
She smiled at the memory, rubbing her newly freed neck, fresh out of the shock collar. It had been a good fight, between the wolves with their armor and the human hunters with their silvered short swords and nets, the Rebels had been a real challenge. She always preferred even matches to . . . the usual rampages. Thanks to the Hunters now languishing in their cells, some of the dried blood on Adora’s uniform was her own for once.
As she went through the halls, word of the raid had already spread. A few of the older senior cadets pumped fists and shouted “Beast Mode!” as she jogged by. Dumb as they were, she preferred them to the people who blanched like she was about to pounce on them. What did they have to be afraid of? The Beast was a monster, but she was the Horde’s monster. She knew her place.
Adora heard the argument before she rounded the corner. “For the hundredth time,” Catra growled. “I didn’t cheat! I earned that grade.”
“You expect me to believe you got the best score in your cohort fair and square?” Grizzlor growled back. “You spend half my class napping and the other half back-talking. Coming up against that exam, I’m sure a little black magic help must have been pretty tempting.” He leaned in closer. “So, just use that magic to help me solve a few problems I’ve been having with the other captains, and maybe I don’t go to Shadow Weaver with this.”
“Go to Shadow Weaver with what?” The wolf drawled, shocking both. “Catra! How was that Tactics exam?” You’ve been studying like crazy all week.” She turned to the Force Captain. She smiled, bearing her fangs.
Grizzlor laughed nervously. “Uhh, I was going to Shadow Weave to . . . t-to tell her that her apprentice got the highest score in your cohort.” He slapped her shoulder. “Great job, cadet! Keep up the good work.” With that, he slunk away muttering angrily.
“Someone ought to muzzle that mutt,” he grumbled when he thought he was out of earshot. “What are we thinking, letting it run around like this?” Adora brushed it off. She was used to that kind of talk. At least it wasn’t to her face anymore, mostly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” the Magicat griped. “I don’t always need you to bail me out, you know?”
Adora threw an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, I know,” she responded. Adora suspected that if Catra got thrown hogtied in a pit in the Crimson Wastes in the morning, she’d be running the place by mid-afternoon. “That just makes the times I can help you special. Besides, are you really gonna deny me the look on Grizzlor’s face when I flashed the fangs?” They laughed. “You have to admit that was priceless.”
“Ok, that was pretty classic,” she admitted. “It is fun seeing the Captains freak out whenever you do that. Even if the new nickname is pretty dumb: The Beast! Seriously, was that the first thing they came up with?”
Adora laughed, a bit forced this time. “Yeah. The Rebels aren’t too creative, I guess. So,” she said to change the subject. “We still on for Grad Night? I’m sorry we had to miss the real one.”
When cadets graduated from junior to senior rank, squads usually spent the night sneaking around the Fright Zone. They feasted on contraband and stayed up as long as they could. Then, at midnight, every Squad snuck into a forgotten storage bay in the oldest quarter of the Fright Zone and carved their names in the otherworldly, twisted metal walls. A sharp, broken diamond was left in the area by the Force Captains for that purpose on that night only.
Obviously, there were stricter than usual patrols stomping around the halls all night to discourage that sort of activity, and the penalties for being caught were public and severe. Grad Night was kind of a final exam in that respect. However, this year, it had fallen on a full moon. Despite her insistence, the squad had refused to celebrate without her.
“I mean I know we can’t carve our names in the same place as everyone else without that diamond,” she continued. “But we could always find a spot in the vents. Make a new tradition.”
“Yeah, no.” Catra responded. “I thought about that, but I decided that I would rather carve my name ten feet tall in that stupid storage bay.” She pulled out the diamond from her pocket. “And that I wanted to watch Grizzlor spend the next year panicking trying to find this!”
“Woah!” Adora whistled.
“Well, since you’re too busy being a people pleaser to plan a good party—“
“I am not a people pleaser!”
“Regardless, the responsibility to plan a banging Grad Night fell to me, and I took that obligation seriously.” A massive grin spread across her face. “On That note, last one to balcony has the hide the diamond when we’re done!” With that she took off, and Adora struggled to keep up, cackling with her all the way.
— — — — — 19 — — — — —
The attack on Thaymor was proceeding nicely. The timing was perfect, right in the midst of a festival. The Rebels were unprepared and unguarded. They were meeting no resistance. Good. She hated having to make an example out of anyone, even if it did tend to keep new acquisitions quiet. She had the soldiers focus their fire on non-essential buildings- homes, pavilions, and the like —anything the Horde wouldn’t be using when they moved in. A foothold this deep in the woods would be a dagger pointed at the heart of Brightmoon.
Soon, all her work would pay off. Years of raids had weakened their borders. The Horde had pushed deeper and deeper into their territory, keeping the Rebels on the run. Shadow Weaver had been all too happy to boast of her ward’s achievements to Lord Hordak. Finally, after she proved herself in a siege that threw an unexpected, teleporting princess at them, Adora was finally the one calling the shots of the attack, Force Captain badge pinned proudly to her uniform.
Adora knew that once they took Thaymor, Brightmoon would be soon to follow. Revenge was in her grasp. She briefly imagined confronting the wolf who turned her, its masters dead, the kingdom that harbored it burning around them. Would they beg for mercy? Would they remember her? Or would she just be another villager they left for dead in one of their reckless rampages? Whatever their reaction, Adora had vowed to keep the mutts from hurting anyone else. Keeping that vow would be her finest hour.
This moment would be perfect if she could ignore that nagging worry in the back of brain. Catra had disappeared the night before. She needed some alone time after finding out about her promotion — she was always sensitive about that stuff — but she seemed off. Adora knew Catra could take care of herself fine, but she still thought the Magicat had brain damage from that crash. The joyride had been worth the risk, seeing Catra laughing as the wind whipped through her mane. For a few minutes, it was just like they were kids again. As carefree as either of them could get.
But then, they crashed, and Catra started ranting about having seen something in the undergrowth. Adora knew magic occasionally messed with her head, much as Catra tried to hide it. She heard her mumbling strange names and night, tossing and turning as the visions rolled in. Sometimes, the wolf imagined coming face-to-face with Cyra, Mara, Light Hope, or any of the others and telling the phantoms to leave Catra alone. She had enough to deal with awake.
Maybe the voices finally got to her. As far as she could tell, she may have actually gone back to look for that —
As if summoned by her thoughts, a tabby Magicat appeared in front of the tank, arms outstretched. “Stop!” She ordered.
Adora called a halt and jumped out of war machine. Ignoring the battle, she ran up and bear hugged the other girl. “Catra! What are you doing here? What’s that in your hair?” The girl blushed and ripped the pink flower out of her mane.
“Adora you have to call off this attack!” She demanded.
Her eyes widened. “Why?” She asked quickly. “Is there a trap? Do the Rebels have an ambush prepared?” She glanced around, catching sight of a familiar sparkly figure, with a weird sword strapped to her back. “That’s one of the Rebel princesses! Catra, this is great! If we grab her before their army shows up, Hordak would promote you in a heartbeat!” Catra’s little impromptu spy mission had paid off. With this, they could end the war and upstage Shadow Weaver in one fell swoop.
“What army?!” Catra shot back. “Look around, dumbass! This is a civilian town!”
Adora’s face hardened. “No,” she explained. “This is a Rebel town. One that harbors wolves and supports princesses — the same people who slaughtered my family, cursed me, and left me for dead. How’s that for innocent!”
Catra stepped back, shocked. “You knew?” She whispered.
“Oh come on, Catra!” She snapped. “You know better than anyone what the Horde is. What do you think I’ve been doing every full moon? Guard duty?”
Catra flinched. “I thought you were better than them . . .”
Adora sighed. She had pushed too hard. “This is the price of justice, Catra.” She spoke more softly this time, she would understand. “Now, stand aside, and let me pay it.”
Before she could answer, an arrow blindsided the wolf, snaring her in a net. It didn’t restrain her long, and soon she was face-to-face with the archer, ready to introduce him to her stun prod when she heard Catra call out.
“For the Pride of Bast!” A wave of magic exploded from the voice. When she turned around, Catra was gone- replaced by an eight-foot tall warrior. A golden aura surrounded her giant self. Her stripped, tabby fur shone like each strand had been dipped in dark bronze. Her mane seemed longer; her mismatched eyes, highlighted by sparkling eyeshadow, shone like beacons. Her uniform was replaced with gleaming white armor, ankh symbol emblazons on the chest, and a flowing cape trailing down to elaborate, strapped sandals. A broad, gold and lapis lazuli collar adorned her neck and shoulders. In her hand was a great, curved scimitar with a fiery gem that matched the one in her now jet black mask.
Soldiers surged to attack the princess, but she knocked them back like they were nothing, moving so fast Adora could barely keep track of her. As the smoke cleared, she called the retreat, panicked. Catr— no! The Princess met her gaze, hurt and fear burning in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but Adora joined her soldiers and fled before she could speak.
Adora had failed her.
Shadow Weaver checked the Restraining Circle for weaknesses again. She discovered several she hadn’t seen in the last dozen go-rounds. Subtle mistakes, but sloppy. Predictable. She could tell decades ago that Castaspella would never be half the sorcerer her brother was. She couldn’t even measure up to the Magicat princess, Lyra. Not that Shadow Weaver planned on escaping. Another wave of withdrawal pains confirmed that she needed Catra’s help. Playing along with Adora’s scheme had given her the chance to stave off death for a little longer, but that had backfired severely. She knew her time was short.
Knowing her, the Magicat would probably be sneaking in any moment to confront her, Queen’s orders be damned.
After all these years, her investment would finally pay off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The soldiers hauled in the applesauce crate like it contained a live bomb, setting it down on her desk. They glanced at her expectantly. “Well,” she said, impatiently. “Open it.” They shared a worried look. “Is there a problem, cadet?”
“Uh,” the first solider stammered. “Well, uh-um it—“ The crate rattled. The soldiers struggled to keep the lid secure. Only loud hissing and the sound of desperate scratching escaped. “It bites, ma’am.”
“Get out of my sight,” she rasped in disgust. They made a break for the exit. How these incompetents managed to make any progress before her arrival was beyond the witch. With a flick of her wrist, a red static cloud gathered around the box. The contents yowled, then fell silent. “There now,” She crooned. “Isn’t that better?”
She lifted the lid to find a dazed tabby kitten lying in a linen blanket. The edges of its fur were singed, its coat covered in ash and sand. With its mismatched eyes half-closed, the kit almost seemed like it was napping peacefully, but its ears flicked and its tail twitched with pain.
“My my,” the witch hummed. “Aren’t you something special?” The magic from the Black Garnet seemed to pool around her. An innate connection with runestone energy! And in one so young. “I suppose that little vanishing act Halfmoon played on us rubbed off on you somehow. Fascinating.”
She reached a clawed finger toward the kit and removed a clay pendant from around her neck, snapping it in half. Inside was a rolled up ribbon of papyrus. “Such a strange tradition,” she muttered. “Keeping a child’s name secret for the first three years.” She could appreciate such paranoid precautions. Based on what she had learned of Halfmoon magic and Magicat politics, names were powerful things. The kit’s parents were right to be afraid.
“At the Naming ceremony,” she continued, speaking as if the kit could understand. “The one who breaks the pendant is considered the child’s guardian. It seems I’ll have to fill the role.” She unrolled the ribbon and deciphered the hieroglyphs. A bowl, a vulture, and a setting sun followed by a symbol for the sun god. “Cat-Ra,” she read aloud. The kit immediately responded with a needy purr. Only her parents had said that name before.
“Catra.” The witch picked her up, cradled her close, and watched as she fell asleep against her. Then, she glanced towards the crackling runestone. “I shall do great things with you.”